


In The Club

by twigglettz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Jealous!Tormund, M/M, border patrol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigglettz/pseuds/twigglettz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tormund would sit at the bar, cheapest beer in hand, and enjoy the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Club

Tormund loved watching Jon dance. It didn't happen often, he could probably count the amount of times on one hand, and he certainly never joined in. But when it did happen, it was glorious. Curled hair bouncing on his shoulders, hips swaying to the beat, eyes fluttering closed at a particularly strong melody. 

Tormund would sit at the bar, cheapest beer in hand, and enjoy the show. 

Jon's head would be fuzzy from trying to keep up with Tormund's pace and his responsibilities would melt from his shoulders. His smiles would come easy and he'd lean into Tormund at the slightest provocation, his head falling onto his shoulder or his hand resting on his thigh. And when a song he'd always denied loving came on, he'd make a beeline to the dance floor, making sure to stay in Tormund's eyeline, and just let go.

The first time Tormund had seen Jon dance, he'd been engulfed by jealousy. Every woman and half the men had stared, more than a few joining in, and Tormund had wanted to personally punch every single one of them. Jon had, of course, been oblivious. He'd shouted over the music to them, chatting and laughing, joining in with their moves. They'd only been dating for a few months and Tormund was still a bit unsure of where their relationship was going. Jon was a little younger, a lot better looking, and Tormund was worried he'd look for a better model. Jon had excused himself, making his way back to the bar. His hair was matted against his forehead, breath laboured and Tormund's cock had stirred at how utterly fucked he'd looked. Without warning, Jon had tugged at his beard, pulling Tormund in for a clumsy kiss, nearly pulling him off the bar stool. Jon downed Tormund's beer before stumbling to the bathroom, and Tormund had grinned smugly at the devastated looks from the harem of women that had been grinding against him.

They'd met at work. It was a shitty border control job between Westeros and Beyond, and they were both stationed at the busiest road toll section. Tormund hated every fucking second of it. He was the only staff member from North of the Wall, hired because they needed a token “wildling” to pretend they weren’t racist, and he was constantly talked down to. He'd nearly quit more than a few times, sick of being the brunt of the jokes and the source of everyone's amusement, but then Jon had been promoted. He'd threatened to fire anyone who treated him differently, waded through dozens of complaints against them both, just to make sure that Tormund felt like an equal. He had invited him out for a drink as a thanks and Jon had seemed surprised at that, stumbling out an affirmative with the biggest smile he had ever seen. Looking back, Tormund was pretty sure that was the best decision he'd ever made.

Tonight, Jon was happy to dance by himself. He looked gorgeous. Hair pulled back, jeans tighter than sin, body twisting to the beat. Tormund was leaning back against the bar, fingers scratching at the label of his bottle, drinking in the sight. It was only when he turned to order another beer that he saw the man sitting next to him staring as well. He was going to leave it, try and ignore him, but they locked eyes. The man tipped his drink in Jon's direction, a smile on his face.

“I'd pay a month's worth of wages to bend that boy over and fu-” Before he could even finish his sentence, Tormund had punched him straight in the jaw, knocking him back off his stool, head cracking on the bar as he went down. He heard a scream from a woman nearby and everyone around him stopped. He was fuming at the man, willing him to get up so he could knock him down again, but then Jon was tugging on his arm, leading him to the exit and he followed silently. 

What the fuck was that about?” Jon asked when they were far enough away from the club. He looked just as angry as Tormund felt.

“You dance too pretty. He was being disrespectful.” Jon's eyes softened, smile threatening to crack, and Tormund wanted to kiss him, mark him, make every single person know that he was his. Jon turned away, pulling him along behind him, bouncing on his heels with every step.

“When we get home, I'll give you a private show.”

Tormund couldn't wait.


End file.
